


My Boy, My Mastierpice

by awritersdelight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood Kink, Daddy Kink, M/M, Serial Killer Peter Hale, Serial Killer Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awritersdelight/pseuds/awritersdelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter found him, saw the potential hiding there in his eyes, the dark spark of interest. And he honed it. Honed his boy into the perfect killing machine. And his little boy just loved to please him. </p><p>OR </p><p>The one where Peter Hale and Stiles Stilinski are serial killers and have all kinds of twisted fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Boy, My Mastierpice

**Author's Note:**

> Anon tumblr request for Daddy kink and Steter

 

“Yeah just like that. Such a good boy. Yes, good. Good.” Peter murmured against the blood drenched boy. A perfect master piece in almost every way. “Now, now let’s not get carried away. We still have the whole night.” Nipping he swayed away to survey his star pupils work from afar.

Strung out and hanging was their latest victim. Lacerations painted his body, some deep, some long and some swirled into patters and carved. And the whole time the only blood that touched the work of art was whatever its painter intended. Stiles had truly surpassed Peter’s expectations. Peter then turned his eyes to the boy, the once hyperactive and unfocused boy now stood stoically still surveying his work. A trailing point blade flicking back and forth as he decided his next action. A cleaning rag sat on the nearby table. Turning to half glance back at Peter, his teacher, his everything, Stiles grinned. Not the grin he showed his father or Scott, no no this grin was saved for Peter and Peter alone because it was Peter who brought out this side of Stiles. Who nurtured it and taught him everything he knew.

“It’s still missing something.” He mused aloud flicking the knife between his fingers with practiced ease. Oh the things that boy could do with his knife. Of course he hadn’t always be fond of them. If anything he balked at the idea the first time. Peter smiled fondly at the memory.

Him. Stiles. Victim one. Good times. His poor boy had been so nervous it had taken longer than either originally planned to hook him. Stiles had insisted on going to the Jungle. Saying it would be easier to blend in and find someone willing. No one would think twice about two people leaving together and on a whim Peter had agreed. That’s not what happened. Stiles had been so nervous and fidgety, a ball of energy really, after leaving that the guy knew something was up. It was only his quick thinking that saved the night. Which was heavily rewarded later. Peter gave him first go.

“What do you think?” Stiles spared a glance back and smirked as if he could read the other’s mind. And maybe he could.

“I think,” Peter pressed himself flush against his back, hand wrapped lightly around the other’s, guiding the knife in a way that was unique only to them. _A mixture of blade and claws._ “He isn’t awake enough to appreciate all the hard work you’ve put into this. Perhaps a break until our model wakes.” He suggested, bringing the blade to the tip of the lips and letting it rest there till a drop of bled welted up.

In his mind’s eye it wasn’t some random model hanging there, but Stiles. It wasn’t this _thing_ covered in a rhythm and pattern only Stiles could see but Stiles marked and owned by him. By Peter. He growled at the thought, not missing how Stiles shivered against him, neck inclining only the teensiest bit backwards.

“Something has you worked up.” Stiles punctuated his words by moving his hips just so.

“You could say that.”

“You mentioned something about letting it come to before moving on to the next step?”

“I did.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Your favorite.”  Stiles’ amber eyes darkened at the promise. Peter leaned forward to nip at his neck. His words branding themselves on _his boy’s_ skin. “You can even bring your favorite blade.” Then was pulling back and sauntering away. He didn’t need to see if Stiles would follow. He knew he would.

Moans poured from his mouth like they were air. His back was arched and muscles strained and jumped under even the lightest caress. His blade laid nearby, discarded and forgotten. Peter thrusted mercilessly, nails raking over every inch of skin he could reach, claws tracing past designs and patters in their wake. Red lines stood out in such beautiful contrasts it had Peter stilling to admire. “Peter. Peter please….so close.”  A hand darted down and started stroking.

“No.” Stiles whimpered when his hand was swatted away. “You know the rules. You cum for me or not at all. I’m afraid you’ll have to be punished for that.” Stiles shuddered as cold steel dragged across his skin in such sharp contrast to claws. “Now how to punish you?” A roll of his hips, pressing right against that bundle had Stiles keening. His hands flew to Peter’s shoulder and braced himself as he tried to thrust down. Peter chuckled and dug his nails in. Stiles cried out as claws pierced his skin and blood stained the sheets below.

His chest heaved in an effort to catch his breath as kisses littered his chest followed by sharp bites. The blade bit into this skin right under his rib cage. Just the way Stile liked it. It didn’t stop him from trying to rush Peter along. It didn’t work. Never did, but it helped get the point across. He needed it. He must have spoken the word aloud because in the next second Peter ripped his arms away and had them pinned above his head, the grip border lining too tight, too painful. Peter’s free hand drifted down, gripping the blade and lightly drawing a matching symbol on his boy. His way of letting everyone know just who Stiles belong too. Stiles moaned and whimpered. “Such a good boy.” Peter licked the shallow cut clean before forcing their lips together, his tongue invading his boy’s mouth as he thrusted away with abandonment, hands clenches and opened. He wanted to touch. To mark. To make matching lines. Biting Peter’s bottom lip hard enough to bleed, Stile pulled back, eyes completely blown, “Please daddy. Please let me touch. I….please.”

Broken laughter danced around them, “How could I deny you anything.” The words always seemed sweet, tender even. Maybe under a different context. Bringing the blade up he placed it in Stile’s hand and guide it to his chest. “It is only fair.” Stiles nodded mutely far more absorbed in the way blood seemed to run in reverse on the wolf above him. Licking his lips, Stiles quickly cut a design into Peter before following quickly with his lips. Peter groaned, hips faltering before finding their rhythm again. Stiles smirked. It was his turn for pay back.

Clenching around the older man, he continued to markup Peter’s skin, knowing he wasn’t the only who got off on it. And Peter didn’t disappoint. His hips lost their rhythm and Peter simple pounded into Stiles with everything he had.

It wasn’t long before Stiles was dropping the knife and bowing his back as he came. Peter wasn’t far behind, biting harshly into the skin that was offered.

After they laid there tangled together chests rising and fallen as once. A bloody blade laying none too far away. The only other sound being that of the shallow breathing from their hanging masterpiece. 

 


End file.
